


Something Wicked

by Yavannie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward First Times, Bisexual Witches and Badass Bitches, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/F, F/M, First Time, Horror, Humor, Magic, Romance, Sexual Content, Teen Angst, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavannie/pseuds/Yavannie
Summary: ETA: THIS FIC IS INDEFINITELY ON HOLD. I blame Fred Andrews. If I ever pick it up again, it will be a complete overhaul. Sorry.





	1. Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I discussed it with the lovely [valadilenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valadilenne/pseuds/valadilenne) (read her one Riverdale fic, it may just be the best one on this site), the idea of the girls as witches hasn't left my thoughts. With the long hiatus that awaits until season 2, I thought I'd try putting it into words. Not betaed, concrit very welcome!

**_October 24th_ **

* * *

 

She could recall the exact moment she knew she was losing him. The shock must have been visible on her face, but rather than meeting her eyes to give her a reassuring glance, a lopsided smile, anything to let her know that things were not going to change, he met them with defiance.

Three words. They had been hers. Three words that shattered into a thousand, razor-sharp pieces; words that had filled her chest with delirious heat, that had wrapped her heart in the softest, sweetest cotton candy, now splintering apart and gnawing away at her insides, slowly bleeding what they had built together dry.

There and then, she wanted to try one last desperate time. Part of her knew it was pointless. Part of her wanted it anyway, and she let that part take over.

“It looks good on you,” she said once he'd closed the door. _It’s a white lie_ , she told herself. “But I want you to take it off.”

“Betty…” Jughead began. Again, defiant.

She stepped closer and wedged a hand under the heavy leather. It felt warmer than she had imagined. “Take. It…” she pushed it over his shoulder, brushing her lips across his, “...off,” she finished, hoping against hope to take them back to where they had been just minutes earlier.

 _Virginity is a myth_ , she told herself as she watched him fumble with the condom wrapper before his hands disappeared down into unknown territory. She took a deep breath, let her head sink down into the pillow. They had been hurtling towards this moment, and it felt more urgent now than ever to follow through. _Our bodies were made for this_ , she told herself as he slowly began pushing into her. Before that knock on the door, and warm glow had been building between her thighs; now she was hot with discomfort, and she bit back a hiss.

“Are you..?” he asked, pausing. He was trembling slightly.

“It's fine,” she said, pulling him down into a kiss. _It'll get better_ , she told herself.

His weight pressed down on her, and she clung to him, willing him closer still. For a few tense seconds, they lay there, joined, breathing. When he moved again, she couldn't help but whimper.

“No,” he said, a touch of anger in his voice. “It's clearly not.” She felt him pull away, watched as he sat back on his heels and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Juggie, it's fine,” she said, sitting up. She knelt in front of him, took his hand and brought it to her chest. He cupped her breast, hesitantly at first, and when she hummed in agreement, eagerly, almost roughly. “I'm fine,” she said, planting one kiss after another on his neck. He groaned quietly, and elation mingled with relief coursed through her.

She kissed him until he was the one lying down, and with all the confidence she could muster, she grabbed him and guided him back inside her. The burning was still there, intense and raw, but she willed it away, moving with determination atop him, hands planted firmly either side of his face. It was mercifully quick. For a few brief minutes Jughead clung to her arms, cursing under his breath before suddenly stiffening below her. He arched his neck back, fingers digging into her flesh, and at the sight of him, she found herself pounding from something entirely different than pain.

Afterwards, he was strangely quiet. There were no cuddles, no loving kisses pressed to her forehead as she had imagined. Instead, he got up, handed her a blanket and told her where she could find the bathroom. Carefully, she patted herself with a wet paper towel. There was a little blood, and she smelled of rubber. On the whole, it didn’t feel half as bad as she had feared. Then again, it hadn’t been half as good as she had expected. When she came back to the bedroom, Jughead was fully dressed, typing away on his mobile. He was wearing the jacket again.

“Sorry,” he said, motioning at the phone, but never looking at her. “Something’s come up, so…”

“Okay,” she said, reaching for her top.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

She didn’t trust her voice enough to answer him, so instead she focused on shimmying her skirt up. Her tights were still tangled up on the floor, and she rolled them into a hard ball and stuffed them in her bag.

“Hey.” Jughead touched her shoulder lightly, making her spin around. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” he said.

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to talk for hours. She wanted to scream, and cry, and rage. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to spit in his face. Instead, she bunched her hands up until she could smile again. “Okay,” she said quietly. _I’m losing him_ , she told herself. _I’m losing him and this is how it begins._

 

**_October 31st._ **

* * *

 

_This is how it begins._

Cheryl sat up, a scream caught in her throat. She was out of breath and sweating, shivering all over. Had she been dreaming about Jason again? No, this had been different. There had been a fire, and… She sniffed the air. Was something burning or was that still smoke she could smell in her hair? She grabbed a bunch of soft, red hair and inhaled deeply, then coughed. _After three days and twice as many washes_. She pushed the covers off her, got out of bed and started pacing the small space between the door and the bathroom. From the walls, tranquil scenes leered at her distress. She _hated_ hotel art, and on that angry note she came to a halt in front of the window. With a swift tug, she threw aside the curtains. Outside, it was raining again. The snow was all but gone and just in time for Halloween, Riverdale was looking gloomier than ever. On a small table next to her was an ornate urn, and she put her hand protectively over it.

“I know it isn’t what we’re used to, Jay-Jay, but we’re safe and warm, and at least it’s not Thornhill.”

As soon as she had uttered the words, she found herself backing away from the window as though led by hands unseen. For a short moment, she felt panic rising in her chest, but then she was completely calm, as if the part of her that was always worrying, always fretting, had suddenly fallen asleep. The feeling was one of relief and utter relaxation. It was nice, she reflected as she clumsily reached for the door knob, being told exactly what to do and where to go.

In her silk nightie, her black lace robe and her furry slippers, Cheryl hobbled down the corridor of the Riverdale Mariott to the elevator. She rode it down to the ground floor, and entered the foyer. The night porter was dozing behind the reception desk, and she stopped. She thought about the kitchen. She thought about the greasy pans, still waiting to be cleaned after the evening’s last sitting. She imagined a spark.

The fire alarm cut through the silence of the night, making the porter jump two feet in the air before scrambling away through a door, leaving Cheryl alone and unseen.

She began walking.

* * *

The music was blaring through the house so loudly Veronica could barely hear herself think. From somewhere nearby came a shout followed by the sound of glass breaking. Through the comfortable haze of alcohol, some small part of her conscience told her that she probably ought to be worried, but right now, she couldn't bring herself to care.

It had been Archie's idea to go. She knew it was a distraction and probably one that would only serve to make matters worse, but the temptation to just get away from it all had been too strong. Fred's condition was stable now, but they were keeping him sedated, no visitors allowed. Between her mom's frantic phone conversations, calling in every favor in the book to get hold of a kidney, and Archie's constant brooding, Reggie Mantle’s Halloween party had emerged as the unlikeliest life saver since her move to Riverdale. She wasn't sure where Archie was now. When she had last seen him, he had been handed a werewolf mask and a beer by Moose and then disappeared off upstairs. That had been an hour ago, she mused, and many a glass of wine had passed under the bridge since. Or down the U-bend, as it were. Maybe she ought to go look for him.

Through the din of last year's dubstep break, she heard the doorbell. No one else seemed inclined to open, so she drifted over to the door and peered through the porthole window. It was Jughead, flanked by two men in leather jackets. She threw the door open and stumbled across the threshold to embrace him. He went stiff as a board against her, but patted her back awkwardly.

“Jughead!” she said. “What are you doing here? And who are your friends?” she added.

“Hey Hecate,” he said, glancing up at her hat with a frown, ignoring her question. “Is Betty here?”

“No…” she said slowly. “Why, did she say she would be?” Ronnie knew that something was up between them, and that Betty was still waiting for him to make amends.

“No, I just…” he looked over her shoulder, almost as if he didn’t believe her. “Her phone seems to be off.”

“Jughead, it’s nearly midnight. Maybe she’s in bed, like the very reasonable person she is?”

“Yeah,” he said, in a not very reassuring way. “If you speak to her… Actually nevermind.”

And with that, he gave her a little salute and walked off down the street, followed by his, what, buddies? Cronies? _Henchmen_? She shook her head at her own silly thoughts, then dug out her phone.

_11.49PM_

_Hey, are you up? Jughead came round Reggie’s asking for you_.

_11.49PM_

_He had some people with him that I’ve never seen before._

_11.50PM_

_Is everything okay?_

She stared at her screen for a minute or two, but Betty didn’t reply. She probably _was_ asleep, she told herself, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her belly.

“Oh man I need to pee.”

Veronica spun around on the landing. “What?” she said. “Who said that?”

Then, two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that a feeling of complete comfort surrounded her. She couldn’t have been safer and happier if she’d been in a marshmallow ball pit surrounded by kittens. All her troubles were forgotten, left in a dark corner of her mind where someone seemed to have turned off the light permanently.

Unfortunately, the second thing that happened was that her brain was suddenly completely flooded by the thoughts of other people.

_...really crave some Cheez-Its right now… whoops, I hope no-one heard that… oh my god is someone having sex in the… ha ha ha ha you can see the outline of his… I’m not going to throw up I’m not going to throw up I’m not going… would anyone here even miss me if I... home by one I should be able to write four hundred words before…_

There were thoughts of love, and hate, and despair, and depression. Veronica closed her eyes and let it all wash through her head like water through a sieve. It was too much. Too much for anyone to know.

She began walking.

* * *

 

When Betty woke up, she was halfway down the stairs. Part of her was still asleep, she noted as she watched herself stepping into her mom’s gardening boots by the front door. _Hey, sleepwalking body,_ she thought as she reached for the door handle. _Don’t be an idiot, put a coat on, you’re only wearing a tank top_. Her body ignored her, and she braced herself (mentally, naturally) for the cold night as she stepped outside. She could see the skin on her naked arms prickle, but strangely enough, she didn’t feel cold at all.

Her body walked her down the street, took the first left and kept going. They were heading south, she observed. Rain water was starting to run down her legs and into her boots, and as if her body realized that this was somewhat of an annoyance, it lifted her hand and averted the water, sending the drops flying off as though she was holding an invisible umbrella. _I’m dreaming_ , she thought placidly as she plodded on down a hill.

It wasn’t long before she realized just where they were headed. _I don’t want to see him_ , she thought, as angrily as she was able to in this dream state. _I don’t care if it’s a dream, I don’t want to see him here either_. But to her surprise, she passed FP’s trailer and continued down a muddy path towards the river. As far as she could tell, she had no intention of stopping. _No_ , she told herself firmly. _No. There’s a bridge not far from here. Go there. Go there now. You are not going into that water, you are not–_

But before she even heard the crunching of pebbles under her feet, her body did the one thing she had not expected; it flew.

Once she had landed ( _Really? Landed? Was this her life now? Her dream life but still…_ ) on the south bank, it was only a short walk until she arrived at her apparent destination; a gloomy clearing, half-lit by the moon that was breaking through the scattering clouds. It had finally stopped raining, she reflected as she came to a halt.

And then, the spell was broken. The cold hit her like a ton of bricks, and she began shivering. It didn’t feel at all like a dream anymore. Dread began to fill her as she scanned the surroundings. The wind made the branches in the trees groan and sigh.

“Betty?” a voice called out.

She turned to see a shadowy figure in a pointy hat walking towards her.

“Stay away!” she shrieked, backing up against a tree.

“Betty it’s me, Ronnie!”

She felt herself go weak at the knees and almost slumped to the ground with relief. Veronica broke into a half run, and Betty came to meet her halfway, the two of them falling into a tight embrace.

“What's going on?” Ronnie said, her voice sounding small and afraid.

“I don't know. I thought I was dreaming but now I'm not so sure.” She took a step back and looked Veronica over. She was wearing a long black dress under her flowing cape, and her makeup looked like something in between goth chic and enthusiastic Kiss fan. To top it off, she was wearing a witch's hat, complete with sequins and cobwebs. “What are you…” she motioned vaguely at her attire.

“We ended up going to Reggie’s Halloween party,” said Ronnie. She bit her lip, looking guilty. “I would have asked you to go, but–”

“No, don't worry,” Betty said, waving away her explanation. “I was sleeping. At least until just a second ago. How did you…?”

“I don’t know,” said Ronnie. “I just… Really wanted to come here, I think?”

Betty nodded in agreement. “Me too. But why? Why us, why...” The cold and the damp made it hard to think, and all the questions she had for Veronica, for herself, seemed to stick in her throat, and for a few moments, they stood there, shivering together.

“Did you do this?!”

Betty and Veronica turned around as one. On the other side of the clearing was none other than Cheryl. Her hair was hanging in long wet tresses down her shoulders, her cheeks streaked with mascara. In flimsy black silk and lace and what looked like a pair of mud caked rabbits, she painted a far scarier picture than anything Betty had seen thus far tonight.

“Cheryl!” called Ronnie. “What are you doing here?”

Cheryl came towards them slowly, her progress somewhat hampered by the dirty lumps on her feet.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she said, her voice thick with anger. “How did you do it? Was it drugs?” She inhaled sharply and crossed her arms defensively. “Was it in the _wine_?”

“Wine?” said Betty. “ _Joke_? Does it _look_ like we're having fun? Cheryl, whoever did this did it to all of us. We have no idea why or how.”

Cheryl jutted her chin out. “I don't buy it, little miss snake. I thought that after everything that’s happened we had agreed to a truce, but clearly I was wrong.”

Veronica sighed. “Well whatever, Jane Nash. Your paranoia, your problem. I’m drunk and cold and I'm calling a cab.” She got her phone out, then frowned at it. “No reception,” she said. “What about you guys?”

Betty shrugged, teeth chattering. “My sleepwalking self wasn’t kind enough to bring my phone.”

Cheryl didn’t say anything. Instead, she made a gurgling sound, deep in her throat. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, and her mouth had fallen open.

“Woah,” said Veronica, at first reaching out for her, and then stepping back.

“This place is cursed,” Cheryl hissed, her head lolling to one side.

“Are you screwing with us?” asked Betty, but even as she finished the sentence she had to bite back a scream.

Slowly, Cheryl rose into the air before them. She hung there like a rag doll, arms limp at her sides, floating a good two feet above the ground. “The school is a place of evil…” she rasped.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” muttered Veronica, and Betty shushed her angrily.

“You are the chosen ones,” said Cheryl, or whoever she was channeling. “Together you must rid Riverdale of evil... Together. Two and one is not three. There must always be three. The mother, the maiden and the crone. It was foretold. Trust no one else. Not even your loved ones. Keep your secrets close… And prepare…”

Betty swallowed hard. “Prepare for what?”

“The gateway is opening. Your powers… will become stronger.”

“Powers? What powers?”

“Study… the book.” Cheryl coughed violently, and a string of slimy fluid dripped from the corner of her mouth onto the ground.

“What book?” Betty was practically shouting.

“There is… no time.” Then Cheryl snapped her head around, as if looking into the forest. “Serpents. Forked their tongues are, and venomous their bite, but the snake was ever a friend to the witch. They come, and I must leave you. Remember, one and two is not three…”

With that, she crashed to the ground in a heap of black silk and red hair.

“What the _hell_ was that?” said Veronica as they helped Cheryl to her feet.

“It wasn’t me,” she said.

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Guys,” said Betty warningly.

The sound of an engine could be heard in the distance, and it was coming closer. Through the trees, they could see the flickering of headlights.

“Run?” suggested Ronnie.

“In this?” said Cheryl, tugging at her nightie.

In any case, it was too late. A rusty pickup truck came rumbling up the dirt track to the clearing and skidded to a halt. Somehow, it came as no surprise at all when Jughead stepped out, followed by two Serpents. Two _other_ Serpents, Betty corrected herself.

“Betty,” he said, jogging up to her. “What are you doing here? Where are your clothes?” He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped her in it, and although she had promised herself to keep her distance until he had apologized, she couldn’t resist leaning into his embrace as he rubbed her back and arms. Next to her, she could see Cheryl reluctantly accepting a jacket from one of Jughead’s companions. She exchanged glances with the other girls. Veronica shook her head slowly, and Cheryl simply looked away.

“We were just…” Betty started.

“–The victims of a sleazy Uber driver,” Veronica cut in. “But we managed to get away before anything happened.”

Jughead looked unconvinced. “But I saw you at Reggie’s, and you said…”

“I lied,” said Veronica.

“Right... ” He turned to Cheryl. “Nice Halloween costume.”

“Thank you, Jughead,” said Cheryl acidly. “Like every other year, I went with slutty cheerleader.” The silence hung in the air for a moment. “You know, for someone who says they’re all about sarcastic jokes, you sure have some difficulty spotting one in the wild. It was a sleepover, and I had a change of heart, okay?”

“And so did Betty,” said Veronica firmly. “Now if you esteemed gentlemen wouldn’t mind, we three damsels are in dire need of a ride.”

Jughead shrugged, and turned to his friends. “Ricky, Freckles, can you drive Cheryl and Veronica home?” He turned back to Betty. “Can we talk?”

His jacket was heavy and warm, and his arm was firmly wrapped around her as they walked back towards Riverdale and Southside. As they crossed the bridge, Betty glanced at the water rushing past below. Had she really flown across the river, not half an hour ago? The thought made her hairs stand on end, and she decided to put the matter firmly aside for the time being.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” said Jughead.

“I was asleep,” she said automatically.

“So you weren’t at Reggie’s party?”

“You knew that already,” said Betty.

“Yes, I did.”

They continued on in silence for a while. “What did you want?” she asked. “When you called.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jughead stopped and turned towards her. “Betty, I just found you half-naked in the middle of the forest across the river after midnight. In _October_.”

“It’s November now,” she pointed out. “And I wasn’t exactly half-naked.”

He gave a frustrated snort. “What were you guys _doing_ out there?”

“Why did you think I wasn’t okay?”

“Because…” he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers a couple of times. “Look, you’re just avoiding my question.”

“No, you’re avoiding mine.” Betty could feel herself getting worked up about this. It had started as a way of not having to talk about what had just happened, but it was becoming increasingly evident that he was hiding something.

“We’re not getting anywhere with this,” he said, and they began walking again.

Back in FP’s trailer (Betty couldn’t bring herself to think of it as Jughead’s - not yet), she borrowed some clothes. His jeans hung from her hips with the help of a belt, and the shirt almost fit her once she had rolled up the sleeves a little.

“Looking good, Cooper,” said Jughead with a smile when she emerged from the bedroom.

When he reached for her, it was far too easy to turn her face up and find comfort in his kiss. He tasted familiar and safe. “What’s happening with us, Jughead?” she whispered.

“This place isn’t for you,” he said, holding her tightly. “These last few days, I’ve seen what the Southside really is, and what it means to be a Serpent. People think the Serpents are hooligans and crooks, small time gangsters and petty thieves. But they’re wrong. They’re wrong about us.”

The ‘us’ was as jarring as it was expected, and Betty choked back a sob. She was losing him. For all her efforts, Jughead was willingly, confidently, _inevitably_ crossing over to the dark side, and there was not a thing she could do to change his mind.

“Did you ever want it?” she asked, trying her best to keep her voice steady.

“Want what?”

“This. Us. You and me.”

He sighed into her hair. “More than anything. But it's getting complicated, Betty, and there’s things I need to do. Dangerous things. Real things. And I don't want you to get involved.”

* * *

 

In her room at the Marriott, Cheryl stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel just before dawn. There were a lot of things about the night that she had needed to process, and as always, the best place to do so was in a long, hot bath. When she had realized that all her bath salts had gone up in flames she had almost regretted torching Thornhill, but she had made do.

She had mused over her experience, from the moment she stepped into the carpeted hallway, to the second she hit the wet grass in the clearing. She had heard things, and seen things. She wasn’t sure that she liked all of it, but on the whole, it had given her some new and exciting ideas. Prepare, the witch had said, using her lips, her voice. Study. Become stronger.

She settled on the bed, a tea light candle in her hand. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply, focusing every last ounce of her concentration on the wick. She opened her eyes.

“Burn.”

The candle was as cold and dead as ever in her palm. She cleared her throat and shook her head, dispelling doubts and stray thoughts. Her breathing slowed, and her pulse with it.

“Burn,” she whispered.

Still nothing. Practice made perfect, Cheryl knew, and she adjusted her towel, training her thought once more on the candle. A minute passed, then two.

“Burn.”

For a brief moment, the wick glowed red, only to fade to black again, leaving a thin trail of smoke rising towards the ceiling.

Cheryl smiled.


	2. The Book of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the strange events in the woods, the girls wake up to deal with the experience in widely different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I'm really enjoying this, and I hope I'll be able to update a little more frequently. I'm a notoriously slow writer, but I have an outline ready, so all I need is time. Soon, I'll have it in abundance with the summer holidays coming. Hope you guys like where it's going! Not betaed and English is not my first language - concrit is always welcome.

It was nearly two in the morning when they pulled up outside her house. Jughead turned the engine off, rubbed his eyes and gave a deep sigh.

“Look,” he said, turning towards her. “I know I haven't exactly been a stellar boyfriend lately…”

“Juggie,” Betty said, interrupting him. “This past week, I haven't even been sure you still _are_. I mean, what _are_ we even anymore?”

He pulled his hands through his hair a couple of times. She wondered when he'd stopped wearing his beanie. “I don't know,” he said in a tired voice.

It was like a punch in the gut. “You don't _know?_ ”

“And neither do you, right?” he snapped. “You literally just said so.”

For a moment, she was stunned into silence. “Jughead,” she said finally. “You told me you loved me. Then you _slept_ with me. And then you ignore me for a week and now you say you _don't know_?”

He gave his head a little shake of disbelief. “Wait, _what?_ It’s not like...” he seemed to be grasping for words. “It’s not like _I_ slept with _you_. We slept _together_ , right? You sure as hell seemed to want to at the time.”

“Yeah, well, that was a mistake,” Betty muttered, forcefully opening the car door to scramble out. As she slammed it shut again she threw a glance at him, and the look he gave her back made her regret just about everything she had said in the last minute. He started the ignition. “Jughead…” she began, but before she had the time to say anything else, he was roaring off down the street, away from her.

She was left standing there, tears welling up and threatening to spill onto his plaid shirt. Lifting her chin, she breathed deeply until they retreated, then snuck inside the dark Cooper residence. Taking great care, she managed to close the door with only a soft click. Half a second later, the lamp in the lounge turned on, flooding Betty in its light.

“Mom, I can explain,” said Betty, kicking off the boots.

“I’m sure you can,” a familiar voice came from inside.

“Polly?” Betty stuck her head around the door frame. “What are you doing up?”

“Shh! I was waiting for you, silly. Luckily for you, mom’s knocked out and dad has been snoring all the way through your slamming of doors and your… Oh my god, Betty, what are you wearing?” She came hobbling over, her belly swaying visibly under her dressing gown.

“Yeah, it’s Jughead’s, I– Polly, I've…” Betty trailed off, thinking back on the past hours. She considered just telling her everything, but she remembered Cheryl's warning. Also, while Polly was her sister and she loved her to bits, a lot had happened in the last six months, and she still wasn’t really sure just who she was. “I think maybe I broke up with him. Or... We broke up.” She said it because it was true, and because she desperately needed to cry.

“Sweetie,” said Polly, pulling her into a hug. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

And Betty slumped against her shoulder, finally allowing herself to release all the hurt that had been sitting in her chest for the past week. “I don’t know,” she said, voice broken by a sob.

“Of course you will,” said Polly, stroking her back. “It was probably for the best. Don't you think?”

Betty knew what she meant, and it still made her angry. The urge to defend their relationship was so strong she had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying something. Despite everything she had said to Jughead, and despite her anger, she knew deep down that it wasn’t for the best. Not at all.

* * *

When the phone alarm buzzed, Veronica clicked it away, turned over and went back to sleep. A morning like this, it seemed like the only reasonable option. The next thing she knew, mom was there, gently shaking her awake.

“Ronnie? _Mija_? It’s time for school.”

“I’m sick,” she said, pulling the covers up around her ears, refusing to open her eyes.

“Veronica…”

“Mom, please.”

“Smithers told me you didn’t get in until late last night. _Very_ late. What’s going on?”

 _Smithers you damn traitor_ , she thought. She winced and turned around to face the grim reality of being a teenage daughter. “I can’t go today. And no, it’s not because I was out late. I’m just…” she closed her eyes again. “Mom. _Please_.”

Her mom sighed, looking Veronica deep in her eyes. Ronnie felt close to her then, almost as if she could sense what she was thinking. Mom knew that she wasn’t really sick, but she also knew she had her reasons for desperately wanting to skip school today. Hermione Lodge had been here too, Ronnie knew suddenly; in a bed, never wanting to get out. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. Then she raised a finger warningly. “Just for today.”

* * *

Principal Weatherbee had practically begged her to stay away.

“ _Miss Blossom_ ,” he had said over the phone. “ _The school board is more than willing to be lenient in these very exceptional circumstances. Your results have been consistently flawless, and I don't see any reason for that to change, even with a short break - perhaps until next term…_ ”

Cheryl had been back the next day and every day since. Today, she had to admit, was the first day she had looked forward to it. She was high on lack of sleep and there was a certain frantic bounce in her step as she swept through the doors of Riverdale High. A Tuesday like any other, for most of the students. For her, it was truly the first day of her new life.

“Cheryl,” a timid voice came from somewhere behind her.

“What,” she barked without turning around. She would have known that miserable squeaking anywhere.

Ginger’s steps hurried after her. “I just wanted to say sorry. About your dad.”

Cheryl froze, and spun around. “Why, did you kill him?”

Ginger stared at her, hugging a book tightly. “N-no… I just thought…”

“Congratulations, I guess there’s a first time for everything,” said Cheryl acidly. “Spare me your condolences, Lopez. If you want to make yourself useful, scurry off and find Josie for me.”

Ginger nodded and hurried away, and Cheryl strode on towards first period. Just outside the classroom, a cleaner was listlessly mopping the hallway, the futile swabbing serving mainly to spread the muddy puddles left by hundreds of shoes more evenly across the floor. The bell rang, and as her class gathered at the door, Cheryl smirked, an idea forming in her head.

“Ice,” she whispered under her breath, subtly flicking her finger at the damp floor.

Moment later, Tina was the first to yelp and slip. As she fell, she grappled frantically at whatever was closest, and got hold of Trev Brown who went down with her. One after another they stumbled, flailed and fell, until her entire English class had been reduced to a big heap of groaning students, presumably with a handful of newly acquired bruises. Stepping carefully over the legs of Midge Klump and into the classroom, Cheryl strolled over to her seat, her grin growing wider by the second.

* * *

When Veronica woke again, it was nearly lunchtime, and she had twenty-five unread messages. Twenty-four of them were from Betty. She opened the one from Archie first.

_8.02am_

_I’m not coming in today. Dad’s having surgery. x_

She sat up a little and typed a reply.

_11.46am_

_Hey! Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I think I caught a cold last night, been in bed all morning. Best of luck to Fred from me. Let me know how it goes. <3 _

As if it had somehow taken every ounce of her strength to compose one simple message, she sank back into the pillows and lay there, eyes closed, trying to gather the will to get up. Somehow, minutes later, she managed to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, shuffle off to the bathroom and have a shower. Afterwards, she felt a little better, and finally plucked up the courage to look at Betty’s messages.

_4.15am_

_Are you still up, can’t sleep, can’t believe what happened._

_4.15am_

_We need to talk tomorrow._

_7.23am_

_Are you up yet?_

_8.02am_

_Are you in school?_

_8.14am_

_Meet in the caf after first period?_

_9.11am_

_Archie’s not here either I guess he’s with you._

_9.25am_

_Ok just heard you’re home sick hope you’re ok_

_9.25am_

_We need to talk about last night though please call me when you see this._

Veronica’s stomach churned as she looked at the rest of the messages. She scrolled through them, letting her eyes flicker across the words, leaving half of them unseen. _Serpents, ectoplasm, sleepwalking_ … _scroll, scroll… levitation, witchcr–… scrooooooooll damn it_. The final message was quite recent.

_12.01pm_

_Great news. Cheryl is back to her horrible old self and she just set fire to someone’s laptop by looking at it so I guess that’s a thing now._

Ronnie clutched her phone to her chest, taking one deep breath after another. Of course, she had known that last night wasn’t just a bad dream, or someone spiking her drink at the party. It’s just that whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to think about it, much less believe it. It hovered at the edge of her mind, threatening to spill over and flood her thoughts with images and impressions, and she didn’t _want_ to remember. She wanted to go to sleep, wake up tomorrow and find that time had turned itself back to two days ago. Or better yet, two weeks. With shaking hands, she quickly typed out a message to Betty.

_12.24pm_

_Too many things going on right now, can’t really talk. See you soon. xoxo_

The reply was almost instant.

_12.25pm_

_???_

_12.25pm_

_C is literally going around setting fire to things we need to talk about this!!!_

Half a minute later, her phone started buzzing. Veronica clicked away the call. A few seconds passed, and then another buzzing. This time, she turned the phone off completely. Outside, it was raining hard, and she watched the drops lashing away at the window pane. She tried to make out rhythms in the steady tattoo, to find patterns in the way the droplets sidled down in quick, erratic little rivers. It was soothing, almost hypnotic, and after a while she slid under the covers again, hugged a pillow and let herself slip away into nothingness.

* * *

Betty was waiting outside the girls’ changing rooms, practically jumping up and down with barely concealed anger. Twenty minutes after practice was over she came out, flanked once again by Ginger Lopez and Tina Patel. Betty wondered briefly if Cheryl actually brainwashed them every now and again; there was no other plausible explanation for why they kept coming back despite repeatedly being dragged through the dirt. Cheryl was about to walk right past Betty, but she grabbed her by the shoulder, forcing her to stop.

“We need to talk,” she said between tightly clenched teeth.

“I don’t think so,” said Cheryl, shrugging her off.

“Yes, we do,” said Betty. “Leave,” she added to Tina and Ginger.

The two girls turned to Cheryl, who sent them off with an irritated nod. “What do you want?” she asked, arms crossed in her trademark bitch pose.

“What do you think? We need to talk about what happened last night, Cheryl!”

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Cheryl smirked. “I really haven’t got a clue what you’re on about, snake charmer. I was in bed last night, sleeping as sweetly as I only do on Ambien.” She turned to walk away.

“Stop it!” Betty hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. “I saw what you did to Dilton’s–”

“No _you_ stop it,” said Cheryl, her voice suddenly cold and low. “I don’t care what you think you saw, or what you think you know about me. None of that matters now, Betty Snooper. Stay away from me - you’re not equipped to play with fire.”

“But–”

“Stay. _Away_.”

As she spoke the final word, a sharp, burning sensation in her fingers made Betty let go of her arm with a hiss. Cheryl marched away, red ponytail swaying confidently as she went, leaving Betty to clutch at her hand. Three fingers had bright red marks on them, marks of the kind you got from grabbing a piping hot oven pan or the wrong end of a hair straightener, and they _stung_. There was no doubt about it; Cheryl had some kind of power now, and she wasn’t using it to do good.

Making her way back to the main building slowly, she tried to call Ronnie again, but her phone was still off. More than anything, she wanted to call Jughead. She nearly had, earlier, out of old habit. It had been one of those spur of the moment things, in the aftermath of Dilton Doiley spraying half the cafeteria full of foam, when she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry, and she just thought _I have to tell Juggie_. She’d been halfway into her phone log before remembering their awful parting of ways last night. The image of his face before he drove away, etched in her mind, had sent a jolt of icy cold regret through her, and she had put the phone away.

Now she was fingering it again where it lay in her coat pocket, quiet and lifeless. She considered calling and hanging up, just to see if he’d call back. She could pretend it was a misdial. _Stop being so goddamn petty_ , she told herself, all while checking that the sound was back on so she wouldn’t miss any messages or calls.

As she crossed the parking lot in the pouring rain, she began to mentally sort through the clues that the possessed Cheryl had given them last night. She had already looked up the triple goddess; there were a myriad of references to it online. The Mother, the Maiden and the Crone was a central motif in modern paganism, but with roots that dated back many hundreds of years. The Serpents that were mentioned had obviously been Jughead and his friends. _The gateway…_ That sounded intriguing, but she had no clue as to what it might mean.

That left the powers and the book, amongst other things. Cheryl had the former, that much was abundantly clear. After watching her antics at lunchtime, Betty had lowkey tried to set fire to a piece of paper in the chemistry lab with no effect other than her left eye hurting a bit from staring too hard. _Your powers will become stronger._ As far as she could tell, Betty was her usual self. No special abilities manifesting, no signs of her being a… screw it, a _witch_. The word made her shiver, and she shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, pulling her shoulders up.

 _Study the book_. What book? In the library, or…? She stopped suddenly and groaned. _Speaking of books_...she thought, turning back to the school again. They had a minor biology test tomorrow, she hadn’t spent a single minute studying and the book was still in her locker.

The corridors were deserted, and her steps echoed as she hurried past the doors of empty classrooms. When she reached her locker, she noticed a smudge of red still there on the frame. For a moment, she considered getting some tissue from the restrooms to wipe it off, but decided to leave it until tomorrow. She fumbled with the combination, the pulled at the door, but for some reason, it wouldn’t open. Something seemed to be stuck, and she shoved it hard with her shoulder. It sprang open, and a number of books, pencils and assorted stationery came tumbling out onto the floor. And there, right on top of her copy of Shakespeare’s collected tragedies, was an unfamiliar book, bound in leather and stained with age, and she knew, knew straight away, that this was _the book_.

The sound of her phone ringing cut through the silence, making her jump and give a stifled cry before fumbling for it in her pocket. She stared at the screen. It was Jughead, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared.

“Hello?” she said uncertainly.

“ _Betty?_ ” There was a short silence. " _I..._ "

“Yes?”

“ _I… I think maybe… Your name was in the list and I…_ ”

“You accidentally..?”

“ _Yeah. Misdial. Sorry_.” Another silence.

“So…”

“ _So, are you okay?_ ”

She sighed, bending down to gather up the things on the floor. “I’m fine…” she said. The biology book and the unfamiliar one she put in her bag, and the rest she scooped up to cram into her locker again. Jughead was still silent, so she went on, figuring that she couldn’t exactly make things worse. “Actually, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” He sounded worried.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, incredulously. “How can you even–”. She stopped herself, because above her, the fluorescent lights had started flickering ominously. A second later, they went out, leaving her completely in the dark.

“ _What’s going on? Where are you?_ ”

“In school,” she said. Then she remembered. _The school is a place of evil_. She swallowed hard and started walking, slowly, her back firmly against the row of lockers. “All the lights just went off.”

“ _Yeah, that happens around five thirty_ ,” he said.

Well, he would know. “What time is it now?”

Jughead was quiet for a couple of seconds, and through the silence, she was sure she could hear the faint sound of steps from the main corridor. “ _It’s only five past_ ,” said Jughead, the sound of his voice so near yet so far away.

“I think someone is here,” she whispered.

“ _I’m on my way._ ”

“Jughead, you’re two _miles_ away,” she hissed desperately. She was by a classroom door now, and the steps were definitely coming closer.

“ _I’m not, actually_.”

She didn’t dare reply, and instead quietly slipped the phone down her jean pocket so that the glow from the screen wouldn’t give her away. Then she reached out her hand, fumbling for the door handle. As quietly as possible, she turned it. Locked. The door at the end of the corridor opened, and she could see the outline of a man, broad shouldered and tall. _I don’t want to die in school_ , she thought, and then the lights came back on.

“Hello,” called the man. He was of an age with her mom and dad, handsome and dark-haired, dressed in what she could only imagine was a very expensive suit.

“Hello,” said Betty, voice trembling slightly.

“Do you know where I might find the janitor?” he said, coming towards her. Betty already knew who he was. She’d seen pictures, of course, but she also knew perfectly well who’d inherited those eyebrows, that jawline, that self-confident look in his eyes. They were even more alike in the flesh.

“Mr. Lodge?” she said.

“That’s right,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “I suppose my rumour precedes me.”

“Not at all,” said Betty, her voice trembling a little. She cleared her throat. “I’m good friends with Ronnie, so…”

“Elizabeth Cooper, I presume?”

“Yes.” She extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, he bent down smoothly to kiss it. It made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to smile. “Pleased to meet you,” she managed.

“Likewise. Now, maybe you’ve heard that Veronica has fallen ill. I’m here to pick up any… Homework she might have. Could you show me her locker?”

“Of course,” said Betty. She knew already that he was lying; she just wasn’t sure why, or about what, but she walked him to Ronnie’s locker and - since she knew the combination - opened it for him. “We have a biology test tomorrow,” she said, pointing helpfully at the right book.

Mr. Lodge picked it up, and then looked at a paper or two, lifted another book to check under it, and quickly patted the bottom of the locker before closing it again. By now, Betty had a fairly strong feeling that what he was really looking for was actually lying at the bottom of her bag.

“I should get this to her,” he said, holding up the biology book, flashing her a quick grin. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” He winked at her before starting down the corridor.

Betty held her breath until he was out of sight, and then let it out in an explosive sigh. Just then, Jughead came jogging around the corner, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Was that…?” he said.

“Hiram Lodge, yes,” said Betty.

“What did he want?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Suddenly, she felt sheepish. “And I’m sorry, but this whole thing was a false alarm. It was just the lights going out, and Ronnie’s dad.”

Jughead didn’t seem annoyed or angry, though. He looked at her, a concerned frown on his face. “Are you okay?”

“ _God_ , Jughead, do you _have_ to keep asking that?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the way he said it made her realized that he was apologizing for more than just asking her that stupid question for the umpteenth time. It was a ‘sorry’ that seemed to mean ten different things, and somehow, it made her hopeful.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment or two. “So…” he said. “Do you want a ride home?”

“Is it still raining?”

“Pouring.”

“Okay, sure,” she said, fighting back a little smile.

As they walked side by side through the school, her mind was torn in two. On the one hand, she was burning with curiosity to open the book, to finally get some answers to all her questions. On the other hand, she couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was, how his elbow brushed against hers every two or three steps, how she could smell a new shampoo or deodorant, how he fell into step with her as though they’d never fallen out.

 


	3. The Uninvited

The book was illegible.

All the way home she had felt it in her bag, her fingers prodding it through the stiff canvas, the weight of it in her lap reassuring. Jughead had been silent, brooding, but she had waved her goodbye with only the tiniest twinge of regret. There were so many questions, and now she would finally get her answers. As soon as she got inside, she had raced up the stairs with a hurried “I’ll eat later!” to mom. On the bed, she opened the bag with trembling hands, ready to uncover whatever secrets the book held. It smelled earthy and old, like a mysterious mixture of libraries and root cellars, and she pried it open reverently.

Symbols. _Triangles_. Hundreds of them all stacked in neat rows. She turned to the next page. More triangles. Some upside-down, some with lines drawn through them, but all triangles. She turned another page, and another, and another. Nothing but triangles. Betty felt the angry tears burning all the way down in her throat, and she wiped her cheeks irritably, tossing the damned thing aside.

A few minutes later, she picked it up again. “It’s a code,” she mumbled to herself, looking the pages up and down slowly, trying to pick out a pattern.

Armed with a pencil and a piece of paper, she moved to the desk and began looking at the book in earnest.

 

* * *

 

Veronica felt the presence of her dad even before he entered the building. It was a shiver down her neck, a pricking in her thumbs… She stood up from the bed and quickly pulled on a dress, brushed through her hair hurriedly and then turned to the mirror to wipe the worst smudges of old mascara from under her eyes. At the very last minute, she remembered her pearls, lying on her vanity, and she scrambled to fasten them around her neck again.

“Veronica.”

Dad was there, in the doorway behind her, and as she saw him reflected in the mirror, he seemed different; drawn and pale, hollowed-eyed and slouching. When she turned around, he looked just like he always had. Perfectly groomed in a tailored suit, a sly smile playing about his lips.

“Dad,” she said, trying to feel enthusiastic. “You're back!”

“All thanks to you, daughter dearest,” he said and strolled into the room. He held her biology book up. “I brought your homework. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. And how are you? After everything...”

“Hermione said you were unwell,” he said, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. He drifted over to her bookshelf, browsing the titles as though he'd never seen them before.

Cautiously, she walked after him, trying to see what he was looking at… Or for. “Well, I'm alright now,” she said, far too gleefully. She had expected their first meeting to be awkward, but this felt like navigating a minefield.

“Ronnie,” said her dad, spinning around on his heel with a pleasant smile. “Only sixteen years old and already you’ve proved invaluable to Lodge Industries. Your mother tells me you spent hours going over old records, and that you managed to dig up things even our finest lawyers overlooked.” He brushed his fingers lightly over her pearl necklace. “Talent like that mustn’t go to waste. It’s time you took your first steps into the family business, wouldn’t you say? I need someone quick on their feet, someone who’s perceptive and discreet. Doesn’t that sound just like you?”

_He’s going to use me_ , she thought. _He wants me to…_ spy _on people_. She didn’t understand how she knew it, but it was as obvious to her as if he’d said it out loud. She forced a smile. “It’s… What I’ve always wanted, dad.”

He grabbed her shoulders firmly. “Good,” he said. “We’ll talk more after dinner. And let’s see if we can’t get you out of that dreadful old school, shall we? Unfortunately, business matters won’t allow us to move back to New York just yet, and the nearest decent private school is miles away…”

“Dad, it’s fine,” she interrupted him. “I like Riverdale High, I’ve got friends there.”

As soon as she’d said the words, she realized her mistake. Hiram cocked his head a little, jaw set. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. A tutor, perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Betty woke bleary-eyed and stiff-necked. She’d spent most of the night trying to discern some kind of pattern in the book. It wasn’t until the symbols had begun blending together and blurring before her eyes that she allowed herself to put the book down and get a couple of hours of sleep before school.

In the cafeteria after first period, she was dangerously close to falling asleep and dipping her nose in her coffee when Veronica sat down opposite her.

“My dad is back,” she said in a hushed voice.

Betty stifled a yawn and made herself sit up a little straighter. “I know, I met him last night. Are you feeling better now?”

Ronnie leaned forward. “You _know_?”

“Uuh,” said Betty, realizing that she’d spent so much time thinking about the book and its symbols that she hadn’t even told Veronica about the whole business with the locker and Hiram Lodge scaring the living crap out of her.

“Oh, right,” said Veronica, waving her hand. “You gave him my book, of course.”

“Yeah…” said Betty slowly. “Did he tell you, or…”

“You’re the only person who knows the combination to my locker, B. But why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

For some reason, Betty was reluctant to tell Veronica the details of last night. The book had come to _her_ , after all, and neither Cheryl nor Veronica had been very interested in talking about _anything_. Also, the fact that she couldn’t make sense of it gnawed at her. She tried to think of something good to say, something that explained why she’d been so caught up with, um, _other stuff_ that she hadn’t even spared a thought for her friends… And with that, the realization hit her that Fred had had his surgery yesterday and she still hadn’t heard from–

“Archie!” gasped Veronica. “Oh my god, we’ve completely forgotten him, haven’t we?”

Betty frowned. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but it felt almost like Ronnie was plucking the thoughts from her brain. They both pulled their phones out, and Veronica held up a hand to signal that she was calling him. Betty listened discreetly to what she was saying to Archie, and as soon as it became clear that Fred’s condition was stable, her mind returned to turning over the problem that had been her focus of attention for the past two days now; what had happened that night.

“Ronnie,” she said as soon as she had hung up. “We need to talk about what happened on Halloween.”

“Now isn’t really the time, Betty. My dad, Archie… I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Not the _time_?” hissed Betty. “The things I saw, the things I _did_ … What about Cheryl! We _need_ –”

“I was drunk,” said Ronnie firmly, starting to gather up her things. “You said yourself you were sleepwalking. I mean, who really knows what happened?”

She was stunned. “Are you serious?”

“I’m going to see Archie at the hospital,” said Veronica. As an afterthought, she added, “Do you want to come?”

Betty could barely believe her ears. That Cheryl would avoid her hadn’t come as a surprise, but _Veronica_? And now she was asking Betty along to see her best friend (who, admittedly, she had kind of neglected lately, but still) since they both were still in diapers as a by-the-way? Who did she think she was?

“I have to go,” said Veronica abruptly, standing up.

“Well _I_ have a class, so…” said Betty acidly, pushing back her chair with a screech, then instantly felt guilty; about being annoyed with Ronnie, who was clearly going through a rough time, about forgetting Archie, about forgetting everything apart from that stupid book.

To her surprise, Veronica sighed and gave her a sad smile before pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” she said.

“Tell him I said hi,” said Betty.

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

For once, Jughead didn’t have anything to do after school. By this, he meant that there were no strange assemblies at the Wyrm, no additional statements to give Sheriff Keller, and no awkward meetings with social services. The list of things he didn’t _have_ to do but probably _should_ was slightly longer. He really ought to give Archie a call, see how Fred's doing. And he knew he needed to have a look at the county jail’s visiting hours for the next few weeks. There were chores, and come to think of it, he _had_ to do them, or Ayda would give him a Look™ that would ruin him for days. Then, there was that English assignment due in next week, not to mention a mountain of homework...

And Betty.

Part of him wanted to just stay away now that it seemed she had more or less given up on him. That was a good thing, the _best_ thing, for both of them. However, with the way things were developing, it wasn’t even an option. So. He’d text her tonight, definitely. The thought was both a relief and a cause for anxiety. He sighed and climbed the steps to the porch, then opened the door to his home as of two weeks. Jenny was sitting at the kitchen table, doing her homework behind her customary curtain of dark hair.

“Hey Jenny,” he said, kicking off his shoes.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

He walked over to the fridge and helped himself to a sandwich from the cling-film covered platter Ayda had prepared before heading off to her night shift. One of the major perks of living in an actual household with actual parents who were good at the whole adulting thing was the seemingly unlimited supply of food.

“What have you got there?” he asked, leaning over to look at the book. “Steinbeck? Really? Nothing new under the sun, huh. Where’s Joseph?”

“The reservation.”

Jughead smiled to himself. Jenny was not a child of many words, and he could kind of see himself a few years ago in her. “Okay, well let me know if you want to look at my old book report. I’m sure I’ve got it on a USB somewhere.”

She glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks. Oh, um… You’ve got a visitor. I forgot.”

He felt himself go cold. “A visitor?”

“She’s in your room.” Jenny cleared her throat a little. “She’s kind of… mean?”

As he took the stairs two at a time, he mentally tried to shortlist the mean women in his general vicinity. The prime suspect was Alice Cooper, but he suspected she would rather die than be seen publicly on this side of the tracks. Veronica could be aloof at times, but mean? In truth, there was only one option left; the most unimaginable one. It was of course also the correct one. She was standing at his desk, reading his notebook.

“Cheryl,” he said, throwing his bag down on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Hello Jughead,” she said without turning around. “Is this your diary? It’s a bit… fragmented.”

He crossed his arms, fumbling for words. “That’s just… I mean, do you even have _any_ sense of what’s appropriate when you visit someone’s house?”

She slapped the book shut and turned to face him. “It’s not exactly _your_ house, is it? And for the record, you shouldn’t leave private stuff lying around–”

“It was in a drawer!”

“–in an _unlocked_ drawer for anyone to find. Lesson learned, I hope.”

Starting shit with her wasn’t worth the trouble, Jughead knew. He also knew better than to keep actual secrets in that book, so the high road it was. “What do you want, Cheryl?”

“I want to see Nana.”

He stiffened, then tried to hide it with a cough. “What?” he said.

“Don’t,” Cheryl said in a low voice. “I know she’s with those vile lizards. I talked to the home and they said she’d been taken away by strange men in leather jackets.”

“She wasn’t _taken_ …”

“I knew it!” Cheryl snatched her purse up from the desk and pushed past him. “Take me there, now!”

Jughead rolled his eyes with a sigh and followed her down the stairs. “I’ve got better things to do than drive you around, _highness_ ,” he said warningly.

“What _things_ could a Southside slob like yourself possibly have to do?”

There was a discreet cough from the kitchen, and Jughead and Cheryl turned as one to look at Jenny. Carefully, she held aside her hair, letting her dark eyes peek out at them. “Chores,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Jughead groaned.

“What is she talking about?” asked Cheryl.

He started ticking off the house rules on his fingers, one by one. “Curfew’s at ten, homework finished before dinner, no girls, no fighting, no cussing, no disrespect. And no leaving the house before I do my chores. They’re all up for negotiation apart from the last one.”

“ _Chores?_ ”

He pointed silently to his column on the weekly rota, where Ayda had written in her neat print, ‘laundry’. “On the bright side,” he said, “it’ll go twice as quick since there’s two of us. You _are_ in a hurry, right?”

 

* * *

 

Her left ring finger nail was chipped, Cheryl observed as Jughead turned the key to the ignition, and the old truck coughed and spluttered before settling into an uneven racket that made her mourn her noise-cancelling, personalized earplugs. They had saved her from her parents bickering many a night, now evaporated into toxic fumes, may they rest in peace. She glared at Jughead. He’d made her remove _lint_ from the dryer, she stank of cheap fabric softener, and this was _definitely_ the last time she ever asked him for a favor.

“Is it far?” she asked loudly over the din of the engine.

Jughead blessed her with one of his trademark emo frowns. “It’s literally a three minute drive. We could have walked, I told you.”

She eased her red lacquer stiletto heels onto the dashboard, feet crossed. “As the song goes, ‘these shoes weren’t made for walking’.”

“Actually, I think you’ll find the song–”

“Shut up, Jughead.”

They soon pulled into a parking lot lit by a flickering neon sign. It was mainly occupied by motorbikes of the kind with unnecessarily long handlebars and trucks with even more rust on them than Jughead’s.

He turned off the engine and took a deep breath. “You should probably know that this is the bar where…” He trailed off.

“Where Jason was kept?”

Jughead nodded slowly. “And killed.”

She pursed her lips and shook her hair back. “I guessed as much.” It took some effort doing, but she made herself look him in the eyes. “But thanks for telling me.”

As they walked up to the bar, Jughead put on his Serpent jacket.

“Don’t tell me I need to wear one of those to get in,” said Cheryl.

“No, you’re with me.”

She glared at him. “Frame this moment in time, Easy Rider, because you’ll never again utter those words and get away with it.”

The White Wyrm was dark, smoke-filled and smelled and looked in every way exactly like you’d imagine a biker dive would. There were few other women, and from the way the patrons ogled Cheryl, she had an inkling she would have gotten in with or without her angsty chaperone. Jughead led her upstairs to an office where he gave a quick knock on the door before opening it. A graying man was sitting at a desk counting cash, and he looked up briefly as they entered.

“Hey Juggie,” he said. “Got a new girl already? Told you wearing that jacket would change your life.”

“She’s not…”

Cheryl elbowed her way forward, planting her until very recently perfectly manicured hands firmly on the table. “Where are you keeping Nana?”

He looked at her levelly. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, “you must be the other twin. She’s in the back with Armstrong.”

She didn’t wait for Jughead to lead the way, but marched straight past the desk and towards the door to the next room. When she pushed it open, she was immediately bowled over by a small, white dog that proceeded to trample her dress, snuffling and licking at her face.

“Get it off, get it off!” she shrieked.

“Here, Hot Dog,” called Jughead, and she did not fail to notice the thinly veiled amusement in his voice.

The dog jumped off, slapping her with its wagging tail a couple of times on its way, and she scrambled up from the floor.

“Cheryl! You finally came.” Nana Rose was sitting on a worn couch next to an elderly Serpent.

“Nana!” said Cheryl, rushing over to her. “Have you been mistreated? Are you hurt?”

Nana Rose looked shocked. “Hurt? Nonsense, dear. Neil and I are old friends.”

“Told you so,” said Jughead.

Cheryl ignored that. “I need to speak to you. In private.”

Nana Rose turned to the old man next to her, and he shrugged, then struggled to his feet.

“We’ll be in the office,” he said, nudging Jughead to follow him out.

As soon as the door had closed, Cheryl sat down (reluctantly - the couch was _grimy_ ) next to Nana and took her hand. “Something incredible has happened,” she said.

“I know,” said Nana Rose, clasping her hand tightly. “I’ve felt it too. You mustn’t be afraid Cheryl dearest.”

She hesitated. Her grandmother was forgetful on a good day and this probably wasn’t one of them. “Nana, I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing here…”

Nana Rose leaned forward, speaking in a hushed whisper. “Has it manifested yet? Your power? What is your element? No, don’t tell me. Fire. Of course it’s fire.”

Cheryl blinked. “How did you know?”

Her eyes were unseeing, the healthy and the blind eye alike. When she spoke, it was with a hint of sadness in her voice. “It’s been nearly sixty years, but I remember it as though it were yesterday. We were the Chosen Three; Neil, Gabriela and myself. My element was metal, as I’m sure you have guessed by now. The craft is in our blood, Cheryl, and now that Riverdale is threatened once more, you must heed the call. Who are the others?”

Cheryl’s head was spinning. Element? Riverdale threatened? She’d spent the last couple of days on a complete power high, and she had come here because she had wanted to tell _someone_. Nana had always been… _open_ to the supernatural, but what she was hearing now was not what she had expected. “You’re… You’re a witch?” she asked.

“I was.”

“You _were_?” What did this mean? That she could _lose_ her power?

Nana frowned at her. “How much do you know, Cheryl? Have you read the book?”

She studied her nails, picked at a flake of nail polish. “Not as such, no.”

“Look at me.”

Cheryl looked up, defiantly. “What?”

“You must work _together_. Who are the other two?”

There was no escaping Nana’s stare. “Veronica Lodge and Betty Cooper,” she said quietly.

“The other Cooper…” said Nana slowly. “Naturally. Well. We’re losing precious time, dear. You must gather them, and for God’s sake, bring the book. Neil! Come back here. And the boy!”

Jughead and Neil the Serpent joined them again, and suddenly, Cheryl felt like she was being dragged into a position she absolutely didn’t want to be in.

“My granddaughter has been Chosen,” said Nana, a hint of pride in her voice.

“As you expected,” said Neil.

“Chosen for what,” said Jughead. “Antagonist of the month?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes at him, but Neil and Nana exchanged a quick glance.

“How much have you told the young ones, Neil?” asked Nana Rose.

“Not a lot. That there is a… threat. We don't know much as it is, and I thought it best...”

“It's time.”

Neil sat down with a sigh. “You should ask your father about this,” he said, pointing at Jughead. Then he looked at Cheryl. “But I'll give you two a basic rundown. This place - Riverdale, Sweetwater, Greendale - is special. Some might call it...magical. Oh, yes, don't look so shocked Juggie. Magic is real, alright. And right here, the fabric of reality is _thinner_. And sometimes… Things slip through.”

“Things, what things,” said Jughead.

“In our days it was demons,” said Nana Rose as though they were discussing the weather. “At the turn of the century it was vampires. This time, who knows?”

Jughead snorted. “Get out,” he said contemptuously. “Vampires. Really? ‘Magic’?” he said, framing the last word with signed inverted commas.

“It's true,” snapped Cheryl, her temper suddenly flaring.

“O-kay...”

She pointed at a trash can in a corner of the room. “Burn,” she said, and half a second later, it was engulfed in flames.

“Holy shit,” said Jughead, stumbling backwards.

“There's no need to be dramatic, dear,” scolded Nana. “Put it out.”

She focused on drawing the heat from the fire, let the flames shrink and fade until they flickered out, leaving only a smoldering pile of half-burned cigarette packets and paper.

“Are we all on the same page now?” asked Neil.

“I'm not even sure why he's allowed anywhere _near_ the page,” said Cheryl, looking at Jughead.

“He's a Serpent,” said Neil, as if it explained everything. “What about the others, Rose? Do we know who they are?”

“The other two,” said Nana, and then paused dramatically. “Are Veronica Lodge…”

“Gaby’s grandchild,” whispered Neil.

“And the Cooper girl.” Neil paled visibly, but Nana went on. “Not Polly, as I first believed, but…”

“Betty,” said Jughead, already halfway to the door.

Cheryl stood up and grabbed his arm. “Not so fast, Floppy Fringe. We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Betty raced up the stairs, a stack of books in her arms. She had taken a power nap in the office of the Blue and Gold, then raided the library and was now as thoroughly prepared as she could be for a session of code-cracking and research; she had everything from Singh’s _The Code Book_ to a dusty old romance novel about witches and vampires, written by a local author more than a hundred years ago. She rounded the corner of the upstairs corridor, humming to herself, only to find her door open. By her desk, her mom was standing, looking in the book. _The_ book.

“Mom,” said Betty, the immediate flash of anger severely dampened by trying to very quickly come up with an explanation for why she kept that thing in her desk.

Alice didn’t even turn around, just kept flipping through the book, muttering something to herself.

“Mom?” said Betty again. “What are you… Hello?” No reaction. Betty walked up to her and leaned over to look at her face. “Hello?” she said loudly. “Why are you in my room, going through my things? We talked about this, mom, we–”

“No…” said Alice slowly, still looking down into the book.

The complete lack of interaction was near enough to make Betty lose it. “What do you mean ‘no’?” she said, her voice rising. “And would you please do me the favor of _looking_ at me when I’m talking to you?”

Alice closed the book and carefully put it back in the drawer where Betty kept it. Then she turned, and without as much as a glance at Betty, she walked out of the room.

“What the hell, mom!” shouted Betty, throwing the pile of books on the floor.

Her mom snapped around. “Betty?” she said in a shocked voice, staring at her as if she’d only just realized she was there.

“Oh, so you can hear me now, can you?”

A blush was creeping up Alice’s neck. “Did you just come in through the window?”

“ _What?_ Mom! You were going through my stuff. _Again!_ ”

“I was not!”

“I was standing right here! I saw you!”

Her mom crossed her arms angrily. “Were you hiding, Elizabeth? Spying on me?”

Betty was so furious she could hardly speak. “Oh my _God_ , mom! Just… Out! Get _out_!”

She pushed Alice through the door forcefully, then slammed it shut and slid the latch into place. A strangled noise of despair escaped her, and she threw herself down on the bed and cried. It was a good cry; the kind where there was no one big, serious thing that really hurt, but where so much confusion had just sort of been building up, and now a storm of tears was here to release it all. Naturally, it was interrupted by a knock on the window.

For half a second, she irrationally thought it was mom, intent on stampeding across her privacy at all costs, but when she sat up and saw the familiar beanie, she quickly wiped her cheeks with her hands and went to open it. Jughead climbed inside, and for a moment he stood there, eyes flitting over her face.

“Are you crying?” he asked with a frown, half reaching for her. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just…” she waved her hand aimlessly. “Mom, you know.”

He touched her shoulder lightly, questioningly, and she stepped into the embrace with a shuddering sigh. It felt so good having his arms around her, tight and safe. There was no hesitation now, just the familiar smell of his jacket, the rise and fall of his chest, his fingers wandering up to caress her neck and hair.

“I’ve been a complete idiot,” he said emphatically.

Betty sniffed and a brittle, raw laugh bubbled up her throat. “Well, yeah.”

“Can I talk to you?” he said then, leaning back a little to look at her, arms still locked around her back.

She winced. “Right now? I thought we were having a moment.”

Jughead gave her a lopsided smile. “Ruined moments are the foundation of our relationship, Betty.” Then he turned serious. “Cheryl came around to my foster home today. She was looking through my stuff, but then she helped me do the laundry and… Okay, that’s irrelevant, but basically Nana Blossom is staying at the White Wyrm now, and we went to see her and Cheryl set fire to a trash can and apparently this place is, like, magical? And I guess what I’m asking you, is are _you_ …” he trailed off, a helpless look on his face.

“Okay, yes,” said Betty. “We should probably talk.”


End file.
